Module 2
Major Poets

The Homework Machine, oh the Homework Machine,
Most perfect contraption that’s ever been seen.
Just put in your homework, then drop a dime,
Snap on the switch, and in ten seconds’ time,
Your homework comes out, quick and clean as can be.
Here it is—“nine plus four?” and the answer is “three.”
Three?
Oh me…
I guess it’s not as perfect
As I thought it would be.

“I do not wish to go to school,”
insisted Sarah Sue,
“and Mother, if you make me,
I will eat a worm or two.”

“Do you mean worms like these, my dear?”
her mother firmly said.
“I got them in the garden,
they’re extremely long and red.”

They’re both the very juiciest
and plumpest I could find.”
“I’m off for school,” said Sarah Sue,
“for I have changed my mind!”

First Day of School

Will they let me go when I need to go to the bathroom?
And what if I get lost on my way back to class?
And what if all of the other kids are a 100, a 1000, a million times
smarter than I am?
And what if we have a spelling test, or a reading test, or an…
anything test, and I’m the only person who doesn’t pass?

And what if my teacher decides that she doesn’t like me?
And what if all of a sudden a tooth gets loose?
And what if I can’t find my lunch, or I step on my lunch, or I
(oops) drop my lunch down someplace like the toilet?
Will they just let me starve or will somebody lend me a
sandwich? A cookie? A cracker? An apple? Some juice?

And what if they say, “Do this,” and I don’t understand them?
And what if there’s teams, and nobody picks me to play?
And what if I took off my sneakers, and also my socks, and
also my jeans and my sweatshirt and T-shirt,
And started the first day of school on the second day.

Nothing is drearier than my school cafeteria—
The food there is really the pits.
The bread is as hard as a brick in a yard;
The cake is all crumbled to bits.
The rotten old cheeses can give you diseases;
The pudding is rancid and runny.
And if you should dare to bite into a pear,
The taste is so bad it’s not funny.
The chicken and rice are served cold as ice;
The soups could send groups to the nurse.
The carrots and peas make you whimper and wheeze;
The broccoli comes with a curse.
The pizza, I’m told, is covered with mold;
The salad is pallid and stale.
The dried-out roast beef fills your belly with grief;
They’re taking the cook off to jail.
The citrus fruit cup will make you throw up;
The cookies are made out of clay.
The mere thought of lunch
Makes my weak stomach scrunch—
But it’s still the best part of the day.